


Not Cinderella

by miera



Series: JB Holiday Tropes [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miera/pseuds/miera
Summary: Brienne isn't Cinderella, but that won't stop Margaery from playing the role of the fairy godmother getting her ready for the Lannister New Year's Eve Ball.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: JB Holiday Tropes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608259
Comments: 12
Kudos: 109





	Not Cinderella

**Author's Note:**

> As I was thinking over this series, I wanted a modern version of Brienne to still have some self-esteem problems but not have them be as severe, since this is supposed to be fluff. Also I assume shopping with Margaery Tyrell would be an endurance test. 
> 
> It also occurred to me that I've read a ton of soccer star!Brienne fics but almost none of her playing basketball (because Gwen's British, I assume?) which, if Brienne was alive anywhere in the US in modern times, she would absolutely be on the basketball team in every school. So this Brienne was a Winterfell Direwolf, coached by the legendary Catelyn Tully-Stark (think UConn Huskies).

By the third shop Margaery dragged her into, Brienne was seriously considering closing her business and giving Olenna Tyrell her money back and joining witness protection to get away from the entire family. 

Their first stop had been a boutique in Georgetown that Brienne had never heard of, with prices well beyond what she would spend on a single article of clothing. Currently the most expensive thing she owned was a tailored suit; she'd bought the jacket and skirt separately from the blouse and then had all three pieces tailored to fit her. She'd worn it to interviews and any time she needed to make a professional appearance somewhere in public, which wasn't often these days, thankfully. One of the perks of being her own boss was that the dress code at Sapphire Isle was jeans and clean shirts. It also meant she didn't have to expend much energy thinking about an uncomfortable subject.

Brienne would never say she loved her body by any means, but she had made a sort of peace with it over the years, if not with her face. Would she prefer to be at least a little shorter and not tower over virtually everyone? Yes. And have curves like Margaery? Yes. But curves wouldn't have helped her on the basketball court, and if she was shorter, she wouldn't have gotten a full ride to Winterfell University and three NCAA championships. 

Spending that time surrounded by other women who had dealt with a lot of the same judgmental shit about their bodies - especially for being tall and having more muscles than most men - had helped Brienne get over some of the crap she'd endured in high school. Her coaches and teammates taught her how to dress and how to walk with confidence, even if it was faked more often than not. They taught her where to shop and when to splurge on professional tailoring to make things fit better. 

She didn't miss the endless training that went with playing, but she missed being a member of a team.

That said, none of her old teammates would have been able to help her right now, not as well as a Tyrell could.

Margaery flipped through racks like a woman on a mission, dismissing anything red or gold, which was a problem when shopping for dresses around Christmas. "Every other woman there is going to be in red or gold or some combination of both," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "We need to make sure you stand out!"

Honestly that argument made Brienne want to wear red more, as she already stood out no matter how hard she tried not to, but she knew better than to quibble. 

After striking out at that place, Margaery drove them to Virginia in her luxury crossover, which at least had enough legroom for Brienne in the passenger seat. They unfortunately made a pit stop for coffee, so they were both full of caffeine and sugar when they arrived at the second store. 

Margaery found two dresses that she made Brienne try on, one blue and one green. It wasn't until Brienne emerged in the second dress that Margaery seemed to finally grasp what Brienne had known for years. Almost nobody manufactured women's clothing for someone her height. What were long skirts for other women hit her mid-calf, and short skirts were barely decent. Waistlines were somewhere over her rib cage, and her broad shoulders strained at any sleeve holes. 

"We need a sheath," Margaery muttered, tapping her finger against her lips and staring at Brienne in the mirror outside the dressing room. "No sleeves, but not strapless." 

None of those things described the green dress. Brienne turned and went back to the dressing room to remove it. She was starting to wonder if even Margaery's fashion sense was going to be able to succeed here.

When she came back Margaery was staring at her phone and didn't look up until they were nearly to the valet. (That she had put her car in valet parking was contributing to Brienne's out-of-body-experience feelings. Never in her life had she valet parked her car at a shopping mall. Margaery hadn't even blinked.)

"So, maybe this isn't going to work," she blurted out. After all, she hadn't sent the invitation back yet, she could just as easily decline it. 

Her friend snapped her head to look up at her. "Of course it's going to work! I know what we need now, and I will find it!" The implied "or have it custom made in record time" was left unsaid.

Brienne knew the Tyrell women too well to object again.

The third place was in Old Town, a trendy area of tiny shops Brienne herself never went to even though her office was not far away. It was in the first floor of a street of renovated brownstones and in addition to the dresses there were shawls, wraps, crystals and all sorts of handmade jewelry tucked around the place. Margaery immediately conferred with the tall, dark-haired woman who was rearranging some hangars while Brienne contemplated making a break for it and hiding in the vault in her office. 

Soon, though, she was in the dressing room, which was basically a curtained off area in the back, holding three dresses. She flipped through them, settling on the black one first. There were no sleeves but the straps were wide and would cover her shoulders more. It wasn't long but it came down far enough she wouldn't be tugging at the hem all night in fear of it riding up too high. 

As soon as she stepped out in the black dress, Margaery shot her a knowing look, as if she'd expected Brienne to pick the plainest of them first.

The sales woman tipped her head to the side. "As a Plan B, perhaps? I think the blue will fit better."

"Agreed," Margaery said, making a shooing gesture to Brienne, who let out a dramatic sigh before going back behind the curtains.

The blue dress was a halter top, which made her uneasy, but the fabric fell across her chest in a drape that gave the illusion of a larger bust than she actually had. The sides just hit her hips before flaring outward slightly, creating the sense of a curve, and then stopped well above her ankles, even though the gown was meant to be floor-length on a normal woman. 

When she emerged, Margaery clapped her hands. "Yes! That's what I'm talking about!" Brienne rolled her eyes and turned to the mirrors.

"It's either too short or not short enough," she complained, gesturing at her legs. 

"That's not important. Look at what the color does for your eyes, Brie." 

She looked but her eyes seemed to still be her eyes, always the best feature of her awkward face, but nothing different than any other day. The dark blue made her look pale, which just made her freckles stand out more, especially under the artificial light. 

The sales woman came up behind her. "We can take the torso in here," she pinched a bit of the fabric at Brienne's waist. "I can try letting down the hem but it won't come far enough to reach, I fear." 

"The hemline has to come up, it's cutting off your legs in the worst possible place," Margaery observed. 

_Thanks for that,_ Brienne thought.

"Though really you should be wearing short skirts all the time with those legs," she added, grinning at the blush that spread across Brienne's face. 

The sales woman left and came back with a darker blue fabric. It was see-through, like an extremely fine net, and covered in tiny sparkles. Brienne didn't completely follow the conversation that took place but she gathered that the woman was going to put a layer of the darker material over the dress, and then alter the hemline in some way to make it work with her legs.

Since they had already had the argument about who was paying for this in the car on the way to the first store, Brienne wandered around the shop while Margaery settled what was probably an astronomical bill for the dress and the alterations needing to be done so fast. She ran her fingers over a stack of pashminas absently. One of them was black, with velvet and silver mingled in the design. It occurred to her that she could wear it as a wrap over the halter top, which would help cover her shoulders, so she took it up to the counter and bought it, ignoring the price through force of will.

"OK, we have achieved victory," she said as they went back out into the rapidly fading afternoon light. "Do you want to drop me at the Metro station? I can get home from there."

Margaery stared at her like she'd started speaking Greek. "Brienne, we're nowhere near done yet!"

She wanted to whimper. "But we found the dress…"

The look in Margaery's eye could only be described as manic. "Shoes, Brienne! SHOES!" 

*~*~*~*~*

By the time they had stopped to eat dinner that evening, Brienne had learned more about shoewear and lingerie than she had in the previous thirty-plus years of her life combined. Margaery Tyrell's feelings on the importance of support garments could only be described as fanatic.

Brienne had argued down to a modest heel, both for her own comfort and because she didn't want to tower over the entire room. Possibly in retribution, Margaery had gone to a pricey boutique out in Vienna and insisted Brienne get fitted for a new bra. Brienne had walked out with three matching bra and panty sets, priced far above the usual six packs of sports bras and cotton underwear she usually bought. 

Looking at the pink and white bag, she felt a weird combination of excitement and unease. She didn't normally buy these types of things. They all had to be hand washed, for heaven's sake. Who had time for that? And it wasn't like anyone was ever going to see her underclothes except maybe a doctor, so why not be comfortable?

The new things weren't uncomfortable, exactly. And in the store the bras at least had been flattering, even if there was only so much that could be done when it came to her chest. 

Truthfully, she had rather liked the way it looked. She wouldn't have just dropped all that money (her own, no way was she letting another person buy her underwear) if she hadn't. 

So why did she feel vaguely like she was doing something she shouldn't? 

Margaery was driving her back to where she'd parked her car that morning. "You're awful quiet."

Brienne sighed. "Just thinking." 

"About how you're not normally the type of woman who buys herself fancy lingerie?" When Brienne glanced over Margaery was smiling, though not in a mean way. "You've been conflicted since you tried on that red bra in the shop." 

Brienne bit her lip. Margaery had made a joke at the time, about red being the Lannister color, which immediately made Brienne want to take the bra off and flee the store. 

Now Margaery only reached over and patted her arm. "OK look, I'm not going to pretend I don't want you to meet someone and fall madly in love and be swept off your feet to go live happily ever after, because I do, if that's what you want, because you're a good person and you deserve it. And Jaime Lannister, while he has his faults, is probably the nicest person in that family, which isn't saying much, but he's gorgeous and single and rich and if you actually like him, you should totally go for it. But," she added before Brienne could begin to protest, "it's also okay to just get something nice for yourself once in a while. And it's okay to enjoy fancy lingerie or shoes or dresses just for your own sake, and not because you want to impress anyone else or are planning to seduce a man or something like that. I know you think you're not allowed to like girly shit, because people are assholes, but if you really like something, you shouldn't let other people tell you you can't."

Brienne just set the first part of the speech aside, because she knew romance and happily ever afters were rare to begin with and not in the cards for someone like her. And the last thing she needed was encouragement to fantasize about Jaime Lannister that way.

The second half of the speech reminded her of the captain of her college basketball team, Asha, a ferocious woman who cursed every other word. They had been at an away game and gathered in Asha's hotel room late one night eating pizza and telling secrets. Asha had fixed Brienne with a look and told her, "Look, someone sold you a bill of goods that said there's only one way to be a woman, that only women who look a certain way are allowed to act feminine, and you need to let that shit go. Do whatever the fuck you want and if anyone gives you shit, punch them in the dick." 

Not precisely the same advice as Margaery's, though similar in spirit. 

"I know. I learned not to try to dress in girly clothes in high school because it would just make things exponentially worse, but I absorbed that to an unhealthy degree. I'm working on it." 

"Good."

They pulled into the Metro station where Brienne had parked her car. It felt like a decade had passed that she was leaving home to head to brunch. She unbuckled her seatbelt and wrapped her arms around Margaery, who had leaned over for a hug. "Thank you for all of this."

"Any time! It was fun! I can't wait to see how everything looks on New Year's Eve!"

Brienne felt a mix of anticipation and trepidation herself. 

*~*~*~*~*

New Year's Eve was clear and crisp as the sun set. Brienne reminded herself that it would only be a few more weeks and it wouldn't be quite so dark at mid-afternoon anymore.

She ate dinner and quickly checked over her townhouse to ensure nothing weird was sitting out for her friends to find. She had picked up the dress from the boutique and it was hanging in her bedroom, making it hard for her to avoid little fantasies about the party, and specifically Jaime. She had spent her days at work focused on financial reports, which were boring as hell but required her full attention. At night she was binge watching a sci-fi series that was frustratingly slow to explain details.

But now there was nothing left to do but shower and wait for Margaery and Sansa to arrive. They were going to help her with her hair and makeup before going to Loras' annual New Year's Eve bash. 

As she showered and shaved her legs, Brienne felt a pang for her usual New Year's Eve ritual of rewatching the Lord of the Rings movies and stuffing her face with pigs in blankets while wearing her favorite hoodie and yoga pants. 

She put those feelings away when there was a knock at the door. "Happy New Year's Eve!" Sansa trilled, hugging Brienne with one arm. Her other arm had a garment bag draped over it. "I hope you don't mind, I brought my dress so I could change here. I can come pick up my clothes in a few days if that's okay?"

"Of course." And interrogate Brienne on how the party went, she knew. Sansa was not exactly a mastermind.

Margaery was carrying a green bottle. "It's sparkling cider, no worries." The last thing Brienne needed was to get accidentally drunk tonight.

After Margaery tried to open the bottle, failed, and had to hand it over to Brienne to get the cork out, the three of them toasted the end of the year and then crammed into the bathroom. Margaery made Brienne wet her hair again so she could put it in large rollers and then dry it after applying more products than Brienne normally used in a year. She couldn't argue with the results, though. Her hair curled in large, gentle waves around her face and over her neck.

Sansa then took over, carefully applying different things to Brienne's face. The number of tubes and brushes was a bit alarming. "You're not going overboard, are you?" Brienne asked, reflexively.

"Trust me," Sansa said with mock severity.

"Honestly, a big fancy party kind of demands more cosmetics than you usually go for," Margaery chimed in, working on her own hair in the mirror. 

That was a fair point.

Brienne still let out a breath when she finally saw herself in the mirror. Her freckles were muted by whatever Sansa had put on her skin. Her eyelashes were visible thanks to the mascara, and although it had felt like hundreds of colors going onto her eyelids, it was mostly blended in a way that just drew attention to her eyes. The concealer hid some of the discolorations, and her lips were covered in a light pink gloss she could reapply herself. 

Now there was nothing left but the dress. Brienne shut herself in her room, changing into the black bra she had bought to work with the halter top, and the matching underwear. The pantyhose were the worst part, as always. Finally she unzipped the bag and carefully unfastened the back of the dress and slipped it on.

"Okay, you can come in," she called to where her friends were hovering in the hallway. The bedroom door swung open so hard it bounced off the wall. 

"Oh, Brienne," Sansa breathed out. "It's amazing!" 

Margaery raced over to reach up and close the back of the dress for her. The dress fitted tightly enough she would have to mind her posture all night, but now the hemline hit higher on her legs. The overlay came down to her ankles, though, creating the illusion of a floor-length gown.

Margaery pushed her back into the bathroom, which was the only mirror in the townhouse. 

"See! What did I tell you?"

The dress sparkled in the light, the blue color complimented by the golden sheen of her skin thanks to the makeup. 

Once both of the other women were dressed and ready, they all took pictures, some solo, and some ridiculous group selfies that had all of them laughing hysterically. Then they were off and Brienne headed for her car, trying to push down the nerves that threatened to overtake her.


End file.
